


Possessed

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past collides with the present when Napoleon finds himself possessed by one of a pair of young lovers from the mid-1800's in the wilds of North Carolina.<br/>Published in Affairs To Remember 2007 revised</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possessed

Illya Kuryakin reclined on the small settee, one hand behind his neck, the other holding the book resting on his chest upright. Every once in a while the hand behind his head would move to turn a page.

Napoleon Solo, his partner, was restless. Ever since they had arrived at this safe house, in the wilds of North Carolina, he’d felt uneasy. The Victorian style house sported most of its original furniture along with the latest in security measures, and Napoleon wondered where U.N.C.L.E. had acquired the property. He roamed every room in the house, before coming back to the sitting room and pacing the floor. He finally stopped behind the sofa, staring intently down at his partner, wondering how he could just lay there.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Illya complained, not taking his eyes off his book.

“Do what?” Napoleon scowled, turning to balance his butt on the sofa back.

“Look at me as if you were a prison inmate, confined without access to women,” Illya said, turning another page. “Sex isn’t everything you know.”

Napoleon sent a quick glance back and down. Sex had been the last thing on his mind, but now that his partner had mentioned it…he did feel sort of trap without any hope of reprieve. Not that he’d ever tell his partner. Best to change the subject entirely. “Tell me. Do you even like women?” Napoleon asked testily.

“Of course. I’ve even loved a few,” Illya said with an air of superiority. “But anything more could prove fatal.” He lifted his gaze to send an unspoken rebuke.

“Just because I enjoy sex and you don’t…” Napoleon snapped.

“I believe I just said I do. In moderation,” Illya broke in.

Napoleon gritted his teeth. “That’s no reason to assume…”

“Really, Napoleon, with you it is no assumption. It is fact.”

Great. His partner thought he was terminally horny. If only he were.

“I think I’ll go take a shower. A long cold shower,” Napoleon decided, pushing off the sofa and suiting action to words.

Illya’s call of, “You do that,” floated out to him as he climbed the stairs. His hand was on the knob of the bathroom door when he decided against it and headed up the stairs leading to the attic.

Light filtered in from both of the large windows that centered on the front and the back of the house. He moved through the jumble of clutter to the back window, standing to the side looking out on the tall grass and wooded area that surrounded the house. It certainly was well isolated, the only electricity supplied by a generator. No one was sure to find them here.

He leaned his head against the frame and sighed, contemplating the fix he had gotten himself into. Sex. That was the problem. Even now the unlikely suggestion his partner had made would have had him in a state of arousal. Should have had. Over the past weeks, his, until now, over active libido had taken a nosedive. It was downright embarrassing and something he had not wanted to get around. It had gotten so bad that he had done something he never had to do before, pay for outside intervention. A mistake as it turned out, a ghastly mistake. And that was where it all started.

He stared out the window not really seeing the view. The high priced call girl that he had hired turned out to be Thrush. Fortunately for him Waverly thought he had done it with the intent of trapping the Thrush agent…so his secret was safe. So far. Then there were the visions. Napoleon turned away and closed his eyes, knocking his head against the window frame.

“I thought you were taking a shower?”

Napoleon’s eyes popped open, he had not heard Illya’s arrival, and it happened again. Illya was standing at the entrance of the attic, only it wasn’t Illya. One dusty boot was poised on the top step. Dark trousers, held up by suspenders, were tucked inside the boots. The white cotton shirt, gaped open, showing off a smooth chest, had no collar. The blond hair worn longer than his partner’s, brushed the neckline of the well-worn cotton shirt. The blue eyes were incandescent, and the smile breathtaking. Napoleon, his heart beating wildly, blinked, and the vision was gone. Illya stood frowning. 

A shiver went up Napoleon’s spine. Things like this had been happening with increasing regularity ever since they’d gotten here. He hadn’t told Illya, not wanting to be thought crazy, but if it kept up he would have to. Illya had this nasty ability of reading him like a book. It was what made him such a good partner.

Needing a little distance, Napoleon pushed past his friend and started down the stairs. He’d only gone two steps when the sound of a shot and Illya’s grunt of pain stopped him. His first reaction was to pull Illya down, out of the line of fire, which he did, as the metal sheeting that covered all the windows automatically dropped into place leaving darkness.

“How bad is it?” 

Illya groaned. “Not too bad. Just nicked me.” 

“Come on. Let’s see if we can get the bleeding stopped.” Napoleon led the way down the stairs, going slowly and using one hand as a guide. 

“How did they find us?” Illya muttered, using his hand to put pressure on his wound.

“Who knows,” Napoleon said, stopping at the bathroom door and flicked on the light, ushering his partner inside. He pulled aside the shirt to confirm that the wound was indeed just a flesh wound and was just finishing with the bandaging when the lights went out.

“Damn, they’ve taken out the generator,” Illya cursed.

Issuing a grunt, Napoleon opened the door a few scant inches and looked out. The place was in complete darkness. A whiff of smoke drifted through the hall.

“Shit, they’ve set the place on fire,” Napoleon muttered in disbelief. 

The darkness was complete as the two passed through the narrow hall and immediately started choking. Slowly they moved down the hall. Napoleon’s fingers brushed the wall, guiding his way toward the center of the house, his other hand gripped Illya’s jacket, making sure he stayed with him. The smoke got denser the closer they got to the living room. They started coughing and Napoleon slipped down to the floor hoping to get under the smoke. Getting out of the building was going to present a problem; surely whoever was out there would shoot as soon as they exited, be it by door or window.

Napoleon could not get over the fact that the place had actually been torched. Something about it was almost like déjà vu. Instinctively he headed toward the fireplace, Illya in close pursuit. His hand touched the wall next to the fireplace, finding the indention and sliding the hidden panel that he had somehow known would be there to the side. 

Behind the sliding panel was a hole, a ladder leading downward. Pulling Illya forward, Napoleon motioned for him to start down first. Carefully pulling the panel back into place and choking on the smoke that followed them, both men descended down the dark conduit that led to who knew where.

The darkness was overwhelming and they moved slowly, the wooden rungs creaking ominously beneath their feet. Reaching the bottom of the narrow shaft where cobwebs and dust prevailed, however Napoleon spotted an area that looked even darker if possible. A very low tunnel. Napoleon brushed away the cobwebs covering the entrance and getting down on their hands and knees the two agents crawled though the dank and narrow passage.

They had gone about a hundred yards by Napoleon’s estimate when they came upon a blank wall. Somehow this all seemed familiar to Napoleon and he had no trouble figuring how to get past it into the fresh air that was beyond.

They wriggled their way out of the exit, brushing cobwebs from their hair and knees as they tried to get their bearings. Illya.was on the point of asking a question, when Napoleon held a finger to his lips, silently requesting that he remain quiet. Somewhere in the darkness, voices could be heard.

Drawing their pistols, the two agents made their way through the bramble, until they could see the side of the safe house. Nearby was a car and two men, smoking as they laughed and joked at the sight of the house in flames. 

Illya raised his gun, ready to pick the two men off. Napoleon reached over, pushing the barrel down. 

Napoleon leaned close and whispered, “No.” Napoleon knew that shooting them, even with only sleep darts, would be clearly advertising they were still alive and he needed time to figure out a few things. “Let’s go.” He waved his hand and set out away from the two Thrush agents and the blazing house.

“Do you know where we’re going? Shouldn’t we check in?” Illya’s questions were quiet as they walked through the wooded area that had surrounded the safe house.

“No,” Napoleon said tersely. “Somehow someone found us and I don’t believe it was by accident.” He found himself drawn in a certain direction as if by an invisible cord. There were no discernable trails, but Napoleon pressed forward. The area they were moving through was wild and rugged and they were not dressed appropriately for it. Flashes of familiarity hit Napoleon as they moved further into the woods that he could not explain. Memories dissolved into real time. A flash of a deer that wasn’t there. Just for a second he had the vision of a young blond-haired man raising a rifle, aiming before flashing a grin at him. Then it was gone. He thought of mentioning it to Illya, but it sounded too strange. Even stranger was the fact that he had never been in this particular part of the country before. Perhaps this was why Mr. Waverly had chosen it.

“Napoleon, do you have any idea where we are headed?” Illya asked, pulling a small branch that had tangled in his blond hair.

Napoleon remained silent. In front of him was a cabin, and his heart jumped in recognition. True it was in great disrepair, but still he knew this cabin, this place. Slowly he walked across the clearing, up two steps to a ramshackled porch. He ran his hands up one of the post.

A strange feeling came over Napoleon as in a daze he whispered, “Can’t believe it’s still here.”

Illya who came to stand next to him looked at him funny. “Have you been here before?”

Napoleon came out of his reverie, uncomfortable with his reaction to this place. He shook his head and walked to the door, pushing it open. He trembled slightly as he looked around the room, the dust covered wooden table, the cobwebs hanging, the fireplace empty. For a split second it transformed into a dust free room, a fire burned brightly in the fireplace. A mirror over the mantel reflected the same blond-haired man that haunted him, so like Illya, sitting at the table shining a rifle. In the blink of an eye it was gone and the place was bare again. What was happening to him?

There in the corner was a bed, not quite a twin nor a double, but more then big enough for two. Napoleon stood there stunned while Illya, gun drawn, inspected the place. Something he should have been doing. Something was happening to him, something he didn’t understand. Shaking his head he snapped back to reality. 

Illya walked around him, returning his gun to its holster. “The place is clean,” he laughed softly. “In a sense.” His blue eyes peered sharply at Napoleon, noting an expression that was quickly covered. “What is it?”

Napoleon shook his head. “Nothing.” He heaved a heavy sigh and ran a hand across his forehead. “Seems as good a place as any to hide out in until we know more.”

Illya moved close and took hold of Napoleon’s arm. His mouth inches from Napoleon’s ear. “You knew this place was here. How?” 

Napoleon turned his head to look at Illya, his eyes filled with something that could have been sadness. “I don’t know,” he replied simply.

Illya looked around the place while running his finger across the table. “No one’s been here for awhile. With a little cleaning it might prove habitable.”

Napoleon nodded his agreement.

“I’ll reconnoiter the perimeter. Why don’t you see what you can do in here?” Illya said, missing Napoleon’s look of distaste as he moved toward the door. 

*** 

Napoleon loosened his tie, took off his jacket laying it across the iron footboard of the bed. Rolling up his sleeves, he first set about putting chairs in their upright position. Testing the pump at the sink, he wasn’t surprised when water started flowing. He automatically located a well-worn broom and cleaning supplies. If it occurred to him to wonder how he found them so quickly he let it pass. 

A little later the light was fading and Napoleon found a lantern filled with kerosene ready to light. A fire was lit in the fireplace to dispel the dampness. In no time at all, he had managed to work wonders. He looked around, satisfied that the place was no longer as filthy as it had been. Looking back on it, there was quite a bit here. It was almost as if one day, someone had just upped and walked away. Nothing was damaged, only time had taken its toll. The cobwebs were gone, the dust dispersed, and the bedding hanging over the railing outside airing. Less satisfying was the state of his clothing.

With no hesitation, he moved toward the armoire that stood in one corner of the room. The mirrored panels in the door were slightly out of alignment, one hanging from its hinges. Then it happened again. Reflected in the one upright panel was the young man wearing the same pants and boots, no shirt, leaving his chest bare. He was leaning back against the young man standing closely behind him. The blond hair contrasted with the dark hair of the person whose muscular arm was wrapped affectionately around his bare chest. Love reflected in their eyes and both were smiling contentedly. The sight of which left a lump in Napoleon’s chest.

A familiar crack of a gunshot brought Napoleon from his trance. He listened and when it was not repeated, relaxed. If Illya were in trouble there would have been more shots. He looked once again in the mirror, only seeing his reflection. With shaky hands he opened the door, finding just what he expected. Two piles of clothing were stacked neatly on shelves. The clothes, though dusty, were in surprisingly good shape. The once white shirts now yellow with age. Without hesitation Napoleon pulled clothing from the right hand side, shook them to vanquish the dust and started changing. When Napoleon closed the mirror, the reflection in it was not his. It was a much younger version of himself. 

The door to the cabin burst open and Illya walked in holding a rabbit by the hind legs. “I bring sustenance,” he announced.

“So you did, Josh, good shooting,” Napoleon said taking the dead carcass from his partner and depositing it on the counter next to the sink. Reaching for a knife he began expertly skinning the beast.

Illya stood there, his hand still upraised. The clothing was throwing him off as well as the voice, which sounded like Napoleon’s but an octave deeper. “What did you call me?”

In the blink of an eye all changed again. Napoleon looked over his shoulder, “Illya of course.” Then he looked down in shock at the skinned animal on the sink in front of him, dropped the knife from his hand, and backed away.

Illya was behind him in an instance, his hand resting on Napoleon’s shoulder. “Napoleon, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” came the whispered reply.

***

Illya immediately took over the skinning of the animal. He knew Napoleon was disturbed about something, but chose not to press him. Eventually Napoleon would tell him, he was sure. At least he hoped. Unfortunately as he put the rabbit on a split in the fireplace it didn’t look much like it. He would have tried to draw Napoleon out, but making small talk was not one of his strong points. 

After Illya finished preparing the food he decided to look through some of the cabinets. In one of the cupboard he found a set of dishes, they were a bit dusty but a rinsing in soapy water fixed that. While rummaging around he found a bottle of scotch. Blowing the dust off he realized it was not the best brand. He pulled the cork from the top and took a swig. There was an old tin with coffee, but too old he decided. Scotch on the other hand, the older the better. 

The meat was cooking so Illya took the time to investigate the cabin further. There was a small bookcase, which Illya squatted down in front of, checking titles, pulling first one then another out, and blowing the dust off. He picked out a couple and set them aside for later perusal. All the while Napoleon was watching out of the corner of his eye. When Illya got to the armoire, he heard a sharp intake of breath. Opening it he found the same stack of clothing that Napoleon had found.

“So this is where you got your current apparel. Not up to your usual standards,” Illya said, earning a slight smile from Napoleon while pulling a pair of pants from the shelf and holding them up. “I’m surprised they fit you so well.” The clothing in spite of everything fitted Napoleon as if made for him.

A whiff of cooked meat caught Illya’s attention. He carved the meat, fixing two plates, and set them upon the table. The two sat eating in silence until Illya could take it no more. He slammed his fork down. “Out with it.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

When Illya had traced a cross over his heart, Napoleon looked down at his plate. “Lately I’ve been … seeing things.” At the sound of sputtered laughter, Napoleon glanced up and glared at his partner. “You promised.”

Illya’s face became its usual impassive self. 

“I’ve…I’ve…been…seeing things.”

Illya’s eyebrows drew up under his bangs. He waited patiently for Napoleon to continue. Napoleon looked ready to tell, but then he shook his head and got up, taking a final swig from his cup, draining it.

“It’s late. We need some rest.” Illya watched silently as Napoleon took his plate to the sink, rinsing, and setting it aside. He had seen Napoleon in many moods before, but this one had him baffled. Napoleon seemed…scared. Not afraid, Illya had never actually seen his partner afraid, but something had frightened him. Something he couldn’t bring himself to talk about, not even to Illya. Whatever it was had Illya’s gut churning with concern.

After Illya finished putting his plate and cup away, he turned to find Napoleon already in the bed, his back to him. Illya stripped down to his briefs and slipped under the covers, his back to Napoleon. He decided to let Napoleon stew for the night. But tomorrow he would demand answers. With that decision made, he closed his eyes and was asleep in an instant.

***

Illya’s eyes popped open. He saw a sliver of light cast through the window above the bed. Someone was touching him, in places he wasn’t used to being touched, bringing out unexpected feelings. He looked down to find familiar hands caressing his body and turned his head to stare over his shoulder. His mouth was captured, his lips parted as a tongue dove in taking his breath away.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” a trembling voice whispered.

Illya opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. The voice was Napoleon’s but different, rougher, the sad hazel eyes, more golden then their usual brown. “God, I’m going to miss you, Josh.” 

Illya turned away, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Napoleon was breathing heavily, crooning harshly in his ears.

“I don’t know what I’ll do once you’re gone. You’re my best friend. I love you.” 

All the while Napoleon’s hands were touching him, caressing his abdomen, pinching his nipples, stroking his cock. Eliciting unwanted feelings, unexpected bodily responses, moans of arousal. Illya knew this was wrong. That they should not be doing this, that he should stop it. But he found he just could not. Napoleon was nuzzling his neck, the grip around his chest tight. Much tighter than he would have thought Napoleon would ever use.

His briefs were stripped from his body and Napoleon’s knee wedged Illya’s legs apart making him gasp. “Man, I need to be in you. One last time, Josh, please?” Napoleon’s hand was caressing the inside of his thighs, fondling his testicles. Illya wiggled trying to get loose. 

Illya tried pushing up as he would if they were practicing in the U.N.C.L.E. gym. But something was wrong; he sensed something different in his partner. A different center of balance, not the spread of the well trained body he was used to.

“No you don’t,” Napoleon hissed. A slick finger found Illya’s anus, massaging around it before slipping inside. Illya tried once again to get away and could not. “Let me Josh…let me…you know you love this…let me. I love you…Josh…my Jooss…sssh.”

Illya’s body gave him no choice. He was responding to the touches even as he wondered why Napoleon was doing this to him. Deep down he knew that something was wrong, very, very wrong; it wasn’t really Napoleon at all. He felt the tip of Napoleon’s cock at the entrance to his hole and tightened up. Now he wanted…needed to feel the pain he knew would come. Illya let out a gasp as Napoleon slid painlessly into him, his fingers having done their job much too well. One would have thought they had done this before.

Illya shut his eyes tightly and willed himself not to enjoy it. 

Unfortunately his body had other ideas. 

Napoleon’s hand gripped Illya’s jaw, turning his head. “Look at us,” he breathed into Illya’s ear. “I want to always remember us like this.”

Illya opened his eyes. The mirror was hanging on the armoire in such a way as to show the two of them in bed. He fully expected to see the two of them and was shocked to see a younger man, who bore a slight resemblance to himself though the blond hair was shaggier than his own, staring back at him. Suddenly he was that young man and everything was as it should be. Behind him was another young man, more muscular than Napoleon, but with similar dark hair and the same single curl hanging over his brow. They had done this before and he wanted, needed to do it again.

A wave of vertigo hit him, and Illya was himself again, just as he felt Napoleon’s cock expand and thrust one final time into him flooding him with semen. Napoleon declared, “I love you, Josh,” one last time before his weight collapsed on top of him and it was over.

Without warning Napoleon stiffened and cried out hoarsely. “Oh my god.” 

Napoleon pulled out swiftly causing Illya the first pain since this had started. Illya lay there, as Napoleon stumbled from the room. He heard the door open and Napoleon retching. Then he did the unthinkable. He let oblivion claim him. 

***

Napoleon staggered away from the cabin. He wasn’t sure where he was heading; he just knew he had to get away…away from…

God, what had he done?

He couldn’t think of that now. That there might be a mole in U.N.C.L.E. was no longer important. Evading THRUSH was now not as essential as getting back to New York. Everything would be okay once that happened…it had to be.

***

The next morning Illya woke to the sound of his communicator piercing the air. He thought he had dreamt it all except for the fact that he was completely nude. Wrapping the sheet  
around himself, Illya snagged his clothing while searching for signs of Napoleon and finding none. He pulled the still signaling communicator from his jacket pocket, assembled it, and croaked, “Kuryakin.”

“Mr. Kuryakin, we’ve had contact with Mr. Solo. Turn on your homing beacon and we’ll have someone come retrieve you.” That was all.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Illya dropped the sheet covering him and picked up his clothing. He winced slightly as he pulled his briefs up. His gun once again in its reassuring place, he reconnoitered the area still finding no trace of his partner. He would have been worried except for the fact that the voice on his communicator had said they’d been in touch with Napoleon.

Returning to the cabin he sat down and picked up one of the books he’d left on the table. Picking it up an aged black and white photo slipped out from between the yellowing pages and fell to the floor.

Illya sank down in a chair as he stared down at the faces in the photo. The brownish print showed two young men, one blond, one dark. The blond was sitting in a straight back chair that Illya recognized from the safe house, his arms draped over the arms of the chair his solemn face staring into the camera. Behind him, staring up out of the picture at Illya, stood another other young man, a dark curl falling over his forehead, standing straight and tall, his chin up, one hand resting lightly on the seated man’s shoulder. 

Setting the picture aside, Illya opened the book. It turned out to be a journal. He flipped to the first page of the journal and, written in faded ink, a bold masculine script, he began to read.

Illya was irritated when his communicator beeped distracting from his reading. The voice over his communicator indicated that his pickup was mere minutes away and jokingly said they were warning him so he wouldn’t shoot them as they came in. He bit back a reply that would have shocked the girl on the other end. Putting the picture back in the journal, Illya gathered up the book, pocketing it before going out on the front porch to await their arrival.

***

Once back in New York, Napoleon made his oral report to Mr. Waverly, leaving out the most intimate details. With a certain amount of dread he planned to leave the writing of his written report until he saw Illya’s to make sure they dovetailed. 

It shocked him how shaky he felt about it all. Even his worse assignments had never left him like this. After he’d vomited he’d headed toward town, each step bringing unwanted memories of the night with unerring clarity. It was as if he’d been held captive, his body used in a manner in which he had no control, leaving their partnership, his and Illya’s, in ruins.

There was no way he would be able to explain the feeling that even now resonated through him without sounding insane. The feeling of holding onto Illya, caressing him, loving him.

The door to his office swished open and familiar footsteps sounded in his ears as a folder was plopped upon his desktop. Napoleon kept his head down not wanting to see the accusing look he just knew Illya’s face held. He pulled the file to him, surprised that his hand did not shake. With some trepidation Napoleon opened Illya’s report and quickly began skimming through it. His eyes narrowed as he read through it a second time. He risked a glance up at Illya who was standing there, his glacial blue eyes unreadable.

“There’s nothing here about…” Napoleon started tapping the report.

Illya cut him off. “Should there be?”

Napoleon felt himself turn red, “Illya, I ra…” 

Illya sliced his hand horizontally through the air, cutting him off. “Not here!” he said tersely.

“Where?” Napoleon snapped in frustration.

You could almost see the gears turning as Illya considered. “The Russian Tea Room. Ten o’clock.” It wasn’t a request, it was a command. Not even awaiting acknowledgement, Illya turned and left.

***

At ten o’clock sharp Napoleon took in a deep breath before gathering enough nerve to enter the Russian Tea Room. He immediately made his way to the second floor letting his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room as he sought out and found the familiar blond head. Illya was sitting alone in a far corner wearing his usual basic black and Napoleon’s gut started to churn as he walked the length of the room and slid into the chair opposite. Thankfully there was a drink already waiting and he drained it in one gulp. A second glass appeared almost before he finished the first. 

He tossed that one back too and found a third in front of him. The burning sensation of the excellent liquor did nothing for his shattered nerves. It still felt like a bad dream, he still couldn’t believe he’d done what he had. “Illya,” he started, but there was a lump in his throat and he couldn’t continue. Illya just sat there looking at him, making him feel worse if that were possible. 

Napoleon couldn’t look Illya in the eye and in spite of two drinks, didn’t have the words to say what he knew he needed to say. How do you apologize for, he could not bring himself to think the word much less say it. He had taken advantage of his partner…no worse, he had…raped him and he had no words for the remorse he felt. 

“This is embarrassing…I don’t know what to say,” Napoleon said when he found his voice. He looked down into his glass. “I can’t explain…” Napoleon still didn’t understand what could have possessed him to do something some so outrageous. “I wish I knew why…”

“No,” Illya said simply and his voice held no anger, no rage. He pulled a book from his side pocket and slid it across to Napoleon. “Perhaps this will help.” Napoleon held it in his hand and gave Illya a questioning look.

Illya nodded. “Read it.”

Napoleon opened the book, a journal really and pushed it closer to the little lamp that just barely illuminated their table.

August 25

I don’t know why I’m writing this, except something inside me insists I must. It all started when - but perhaps I’d best start at the beginning.

Joshua McKay and I have been best friends since forever. It being only natural with us living as we did so far from town, about 20 miles. Joshes folks were well off. They had a big house and lots of land. I’m not sure what his pa did, but it took him from home a lot.

My folks may not have had money, but there was plenty of love. We lived in a small cabin a couple of miles away. Ma was the best cook hereabouts, and she helped Mz. McKay with the cleaning and the cookin at the big house. Pa didn’t have a whole lot of education, but he did what he could. 

When it came time to start school, my ma was adimate that I should go. Pa wasn’t too pleased not wantin to have a son with more learnin then him. Ma won out, and I had to get up early and do my chores but I din’ mind. I had a powerful thirst for learnin.

At school the older kids thought that being smaller than most kids his age Josh was ripe for picken on, I, being larger then most of them would womp em. Soon no one dared pick on Josh McKay. In return, Josh helped me with my schoolin. Him been more smarter then me. In betwinkst time we’d go huntin and campin. During the summer there was swimmin’ in the nearby creek. 

When I got to be 12 Ma passed away and things got hard for me and pa. He took it kinda hard and started drinkin more. That bein bad enough, Josh’s folks decided to send him away to school and I was mighty lonely. With ma gone I was doin the cookin and cleanin.

Josh promised to write and I think all that kept me going was waiten for those letters to arrive. He wrote about the pranks some of the other students pulled, but said he’d never have the nerve to do the same as they did. I sometimes worried that he’d find a friend he liked better then me, but he would come back summers and it was as if no time had past. We had plenty of fun during his time home. When I was 15 pa got run over by the stage whiles comin outa the bar. I don’t know what I woulda done if Smitty hadn’t given me a job workin at the stables.

The summer I turned 16 a traveling circus came ta town. The town decided to hold a spring festival along with it. There would be food and drink and a dance afterwards. It was Mz. McKay’s idea and went over like right well. 

That’s basically were this whole thing starts. I remember it as if it was yesterday. We were at Josh’s place. His ma and pa were outa town seein to some last minute decorations. Josh was excited. It was his first time goin dancin with a girl and he was gonna take Betsy Kramer. I’d just come back from huntin, and had brought a passal of pheasants for Josh’s ma. 

I was sittin in the kitchen, cleanin my shot gun and Josh was reading one of his books. He looked up at me and asked if I was goin to the dance.

My face turned red. Girls didn’t like to be seen with the likes of this poor boy, so I hemmed and hawed around. I didn’t want to admit that, plus even if one did I had nothing to wear so I ended up sayin that I didn’t know how ta dance. Josh jumped up and dragged me inta the pallor. He put a record on their victrola and winden it up. 

It was a good thing his folks weren’t around. They woulda thought us crazy. Josh had shot up in the past year and was now only ½ a head shorter then me. He put one of my hands around his waist and took my other hand in his sayin he was gonna teach me. My face musta been brite red as we moved about the room. His hand on ma shoulder, me tryin not to step on him. I kept lookin at his feet an he kept telling me not to. I asked him if dancing was all he learned in his high falutin school. He jiggled his eyebrow and tol me it wasn’t all and we ended up fallin to the floor laughin.

When we managed to stop laughen, Josh got serious an asked me if I’d ever kissed a girl. I musta turned 4 shades of red. You see – Mary Lou – one of the maids at the hotel had taken a shine to me. Said I was a good strappen young man. She’d been teachin me things.

Josh blue eyes got wide and I guess he took that as a yes. He admitted to never kissin a girl and was kinda hopin to do so with Betsy. He said since he’d taught me dancing the least I could do was teach him kissin.

I didn’t know what to say. Here we were sittin on the floor in his folks pallor. Them blue eyes of his pleadin with me. I never could resist when he looked like that. I tol him to close his eyes and leaned over to give him a peck like I woulda done to ma. 

It didn’t turn out that way. The next thing I know I’m breathing heavily and getting hard, which so far has only happened with Mary Lou. I can’t tell you what I was thinking, but I knowed it wasn’t right. Just then Josh pulled away, got up and took me by the hand and led me to his bedroom. Evidently readen and writin weren’t the only thing Josh learned while he was away at school. Deep down I knew this was a mistake. But this was Josh, my best friend in the world. As it turned out it was a worse mistake than I thought.

When he reached this point Napoleon let out a deep breath not sure he wanted to read the rest. His chest tightened. Even here in New York he could still feel the resonance of the writer. He glanced up at Illya. Illya nodded, encouraging him to continue. Napoleon got the impression that Illya knew exactly at what point he was in this drama.

We went to the festival and were haven a great time. When Betsy joined us it was pure torture. Soon I was feeling lika third wheel. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the dance. Knowing what Josh intended with Betsy, I couldn’t bring myself to watch. Sometime during that night at Josh’s place I’d fallen in love with my best friend.

After the festival, me and Josh decided to take a break and get away from it all for about a week. We took our rifles and went up into the mountains, planning to camp out like old times.

Josh brought a couple of bottles of his pa’s best whiskey. We drank and talked as it got colder and started to snow. We were drunk, cold and wet. In the tent we undressed, holding onto each other to stay warm. The holden turned to kissin and I couldn’t help it, his body felt so good and I took him then an there. 

When it was over I was shaken so hard. I begged Josh to forgive me and swore it would never happen again. Josh shocked me, he held me, told to calm down – he was comforting ME. I broke down and confessed my feelins toward him. Even though he claimed it was alright, I vowed never to let it happen again. My good intentions lasted all of 24 hours. 

Over the next few years we’d manage to find time to sneak off. It ain’t been easy – getting together. We decided early on it wouldn’t be good if we was found out, so Josh courted Betsy and I continued to see Mary-Lou. Josh is leavin tomorrow to head up to one of the leading colleges in the country. I’m mighty proud of him, but know that I’m gonna miss him every minute he’s gone. Damn you, Josh, wish I knew how to quit you.

Napoleon shut the book and sat back dazed. From the look on Illya’s face it appeared that he felt that this explained everything, that his actions were not his own. “I don’t know what to say.” With each and every word he could feel the anguish of the writer. “I wonder what became of them,” he whispered. 

Illya pulled another paper from his pocket and passed it over. It was a photocopy of an old newspaper clipping.

Napoleon’s hands shook as he read about a barn fire in which two young men died. He almost stopped breathing as memory took hold. He shut his eyes tightly trying to block-out the emotions that were washing through him. Illya’s hand on his wrist brought him back and Napoleon opened his eyes, surprised to see the concern in his partner’s blue eyes. 

“What is it?”

“She was there,” Napoleon answered, his voice so low that Illya had to lean forward to catch what he was saying.

“Who?”

“Betsy. They were…they were saying good-bye.” Even as he said it he could see in his mind’s eye the desperate embrace of the both men as two pairs of lips sought each other for what would be a long time. The surprise they felt as the Betsy stood in the barn doorway screaming with rage, ranting about being played the fool. “She set the fire. Locked them in.” The memory seared though him, he felt the heat, smelled the smoke as it rose around them. This he realized was the déjà vu he had felt when the safe-house had been set on fire. 

“So now everything is explained,” Illya said softly to himself.

Napoleon frowned. Sure it explained all the strange visions he’d been having. “Still it is no excuse for what I did.”

Illya’s hand withdrew and he began fiddling with the coaster under his drink. “I could have stopped you at any time,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you?” Napoleon choked out. 

Illya couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. He looked first down at his hands, then off to the side. Finally he sat back and let out a heavy sigh. Napoleon stared at him uncomprehending. Not wanting to believe what he was thinking. Illya should have been angry, should have been cursing him, telling him he never wanted to work with him again. That’s what he would have done…or would he?

“You couldn’t have enjoyed it?” Napoleon asked, stunned at the idea.

Finally exploding, Illya lean forward glaring at him and hissed, “Do you think I wanted to?” 

Napoleon’s mouth went slack and he stared at Illya openmouthed. Was Illya admitting that he had enjoyed it? His mind went into a reversal as he revised his thinking. If Illya had …maybe it was not as bad a thing as he thought. Damn, he wished his memory of it were better. Better yet he wished he knew why he had done it.

Something about his expression must have communicated itself to Illya. “Don’t look at me like that,” he hissed. 

Napoleon snapped his mouth shut. Then because he had to say something. “It’s just that I never would have thought…”

“You and me both,” Illya muttered.

“You liked it!” Napoleon fell back against the booth seat, almost lightheaded with relief at the revelation. He’d been feeling guilty, remembering touching his partner in a way he never had the nerve to do before and how enjoyable it had felt.

“I wish you would not put it like that,” Illya said irritably.

Napoleon dared hope that he might have a chance to repeat the experience. He had this irresistible urge to reach over, and pull Illya across the table, to kiss him senseless. Just in time he remembered where he was. Then Illya smiled, a smile that promised hope for the future and Napoleon could not help but smile back.

The end


End file.
